Counting
by BadKatPat
Summary: Sequel to The Walking Wounded.  Harry's childlike state is worsening, and Draco is worried that he will lose the one love of his life. Until Draco does the one thing a Malfoy should never do.  A bit of romance, angst, and some Harry/Draco goodness. Very M


Two years, six months, one week, and three days ago Draco Malfoy lost the love of his life. And if he thought really hard about it, he could probably peg it down to the hour and minute. Draco turned the dated journal page and set down his quill. He rubbed his eyes wearily, and sighed. It had been another long day, and the man snoring softly in his bed had been quite difficult. It made him wonder how any parent could endure the wrath of a child.

Harry's spell damage had made him quite childlike. This could be either good or bad, depending on your outlook. Although he wasn't himself, he was a sweet, innocent that reveled in the day's little pleasures. A flower to smell, music to sing with, and a hand to hold whilst walking down the lane were the joys in his life now. Oh, and the bad days were the ones to forget. But, the bad days were coming more and more often. Harry had become sullen, moody to the point of depression, or at least that's how it seemed to Draco. Those dark days were days of pain, stillness, and quiet terror.

The blond picked up his quill again, absently brushing the hawk feather back and forth across his chin. He'd set down on paper the events of the day for every day that he'd spent with Harry since The Day. At least, that's what the Daily Prophet was calling it; The Day Harry defeated Voldemort. He'd written in his journal about it himself, although he would daresay, he had the facts were more accurate than the Prophet.

Draco shut the book, and slipped it into the drawer of the desk. Cleaning the quill's nib, he mentally ran through what he was going to say at the inquiry tomorrow. Since The Day, and even Draco had started thinking of it that way, the public's desire to see Harry had grown exponentially. This in turn led to a maelstrom of political maneuvering to have Harry leave their little cottage and be cared for by "professionals."

_'Bah, professionals, my arse,'_Draco thought to himself bitterly. He hauled himself out of the chair and crossed the room to stand by the bed, his gaze wandering over the man under the covers. Draco gently brushed his fingers across Harry's forehead, his fingers snagging in the tangled locks. "They won't care for you like I do," he whispered, leaning over and kissing the scratched forehead of the Boy Who Hadn't Lived in Quite Some Time.

Today had been one of those bad days. He'd written it all down in his journal, and standing there gently stroking Harry's face, he remembered what he walked into when he'd arrived at the cottage.

xxxxx

"Draco!" Mrs. Figg screamed as she stumbled past him at the front door. A plate of food sailed through the air, landing with a crash on the front steps, the mashed potatoes and vegetables splattering on Draco's trousers.

One hand holding her heaving chest, Mrs. Figg stared at the confused blond standing half in and half out of the front door. "I'm not going back in there! He's…he's an animal!" she screeched.

Draco shook his head in confusion. "What the hell's going on here?" he shouted, trying to remain calm in the chaos around him. He could hear Harry shrieking and then murmuring, the words seemingly random.

"Want…I….Green….Hate…Shit…" Harry cried, and Draco heard more crockery breaking in the kitchen.

Draco turned to the distraught woman, taking in her shaking hands, and her quivering lips, her hair askew. "Mrs. Figg, I'm sorry," he started, flinching at another loud crash inside the cottage. "Maybe you should go on home," Draco said quietly.

"If I go, I'm not coming back," Mrs. Figg said, crossing her arms across her chest. "Just toss out my bag and I'll be on my way."

Draco stepped in the living room, stepped over the cushions from the sofa, and retrieved Mrs. Figg's purse. Carefully, he stepped over the debris scattered about the room and stepped back outside.

The little woman had moved closer to the lane, and was standing there tapping her foot, her hands perched on her thin hips. "About time young man, I'm not getting any younger!" she hissed. She stopped when she saw the dazed expression on Draco's face as he approached her, her bag held out in front of him. Mrs. Figg reached for the handbag, and sadly shook her head. "I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy, I just can't take it anymore," she said, clutching the purse tightly to her flat chest. "I just can't…" she repeated.

Draco patted her thin back. He made to pull her into a hug, but the sparse little caretaker stepped away. "I'm going now. Good luck to you Mr. Malfoy," she said as she turned and headed down the lane, her purse banging her hip with each step she took. Draco watched her make her way down the lane until she turned left at the fork in the road.

Sighing, Draco stepped into the house. Cushions and pillows had been flung off the sofa; some had been ripped, the stuffing lying on the floor near the fireplace. He knelt down and picked up a plant that had been upended, shuffling the dirt together with his hands and dumping it back into the pot. Wiping his hands on his filthy trousers, he picked up the intact cushions and set them back on the sofa. He examined the ripped ones and pushed the stuffing back in them, and wedged them between the other cushions to keep the stuffing from popping out. Draco started when he heard a wail come from the kitchen.

He tossed aside the magazine he'd picked up and ran into the kitchen. Harry was in the corner of the kitchen with the butcher's knife. He'd run his thumb across the blade and was sitting on the floor watching the slow, steady drip of blood from the cut fall on his pants and soak into the dark material.

Draco knelt next to the man squatting in the corner. Harry did look like a madman; his clothing was disheveled and dirty, bits of uneaten food staining his shirt and trousers, his hair a wild bird's nest, and Draco was alarmed at the feral gleam in his green eyes.

Harry turned his attention to Draco and brought the knife's blade to hover over his wrist. He grinned and this scared Draco more than the sharp blade in his hand. Harry looked between the blade and Draco and started to lower it to his wrist, but Draco laid his hand over Harry's wrist before the blade could slash into the tender skin.

"Don't," Draco said simply and held his other hand out, palm up, for the knife. Harry gripped the knife tightly and brought the blade up until it was flat across his chest. He glared at the man kneeling there, grasping his arm and curled into the corner.

"Harry, give me the knife," Draco said, his voice shaking. This was the worst Harry had ever been, and even with the horrors Draco had seen during the war, this was the worst by far.

Draco could see Harry's eyes glazing and he seemed to be drifting away into his own little world again. A fat tear ran down Harry's cheek, and the butcher knife dropped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. Quickly picking up the knife, Draco reached up and dropped it into the sink, away from Harry's trembling hands. He turned and watched, horrified as Harry smeared his bloody finger across his face wiping the tear away, and finally put it in his mouth.

"Come on, Harry, let's get something to drink and sit outside for a bit," Draco said reaching for Harry's arm to help him up off the floor. Harry loved being outside, letting the wind ruffle his hair, feeling the sun warm his skin, but for whatever reason, it always seemed to calm him. And this was something Draco needed desperately to do.

Harry rose obediently and shook off Draco's hand and shuffled toward the door. Draco watched him open the door, and was amazed at how quickly Harry could go from crazed to calm. He watched Harry open the screen door and slip out. The garden was fenced and Harry couldn't wander far. Usually, he'd find something to dig up, or tear apart, or mess with in some shape or fashion. It was a wonder they still had any plants left.

Draco rose and turned and looked out the window over the sink. Harry was sitting next to the oak tree, pulling at the weeds around the base and flinging them about. Draco could still feel his heart pounding, and he rubbed his hand absently over his heart. It had just been in the last month or so that Harry had started acting so angry and frustrated. With this sudden change in disposition, Harry had begun to say less and less. On the bad days he wouldn't talk at all. And Draco was starting to believe that this was one of those days.

Suddenly, Draco could hear a crazed rant in his head. It wasn't so much speaking but a feeling, frustration, anger, pain… always pain. Crawling ants tracking pain inside his head, wild animals clawing and fighting and then the flash of green light and then again, the utter desolation of being trapped.

Draco forced the feeling out of his mind, knowing that Harry was in great distress and that he had to be strong and take charge of the situation before something happened to his one true love.

Opening his eyes, Draco drew in a deep breath, and then realized that he'd been gripping the sink so hard that his hands were cramping.

Then, he heard it. The sound of an animal keening.

Through the window, Draco saw Harry hit head against the tree trunk. Aghast, he watched him do it again, and again, and again. And Draco felt like he was moving in slow motion. He was out the door and pounding across the yard, his feet barely touching the ground.

The wind had picked up and Draco looked up quickly. The clouds were darkening and roiling in the sky, and the faint pulse of lightening was in the air and Draco tore across the yard, running as if his life depended upon it, or more so, Harry's.

"Stop Harry, stop!" Draco screamed as he dropped down next to the dark-headed man-child. Harry swiped his forehead across the rough bark once more before Draco was able to jerk him away, and then wrap his arms around to hold him still. The scratches were starting to bead with blood and Draco felt Harry shiver in his arms. Pulling him closer, Draco could feel Harry's tears drip onto his shirt, and they sat there in the dark, rocking and with Harry crying silently.

xxxxx

The tears slid slowly down his cheeks. He didn't even realize he was crying until he saw Harry flinch in his sleep from the drops that had fallen on this face. He wiped his face with his sleeve and gazed at his former lover before him. Hermione had brought him books to read about conditions like Harry's. But, then there had never been a case like Harry's before. She'd searched the library at Hogwarts and every Muggle and Wizard library in England. Draco knew that Harry's last footnote would be in a medical text under the heading "Incurable Cases." This wasn't how it was supposed to end, this mess of a life owned by one Harry Potter. It was his life too, and Draco had fought hard to bring him back, to remind Harry of the life he had, the life he could still have. But it wasn't enough, nothing had been, nothing ever would be.

_'Malfoy's aren't supposed to cry,'_Draco thought, the tears still slipping down his face. He brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead and studied his scar. It was dark red, and the scratches and bruised flesh made it appear unbearably tender. And his tears dripped on Harry's forehead as he leaned over and kissed the abused flesh. He couldn't stop the prickly feeling in his throat or the sadness that reared up inside him. And Draco cried for himself this time, not for Harry, not for the lost time, or the unreachable future, but for the pain he carried inside him, the lonely life that he lived every day, and terrible yearning he had for Harry.

Harry drowsily looked up at Draco and reached for his hand. "Sad," he whispered, and brought Draco's hand to his face to wipe the wetness away. Harry gazed steadily at Draco, his green eyes confused. "Dra..co… sad," Harry said, and snuggled his face into Draco's hand. "Hawry…sad…slee..pee." Harry's tongue slipped out and licked a tear that had fallen on his lips. "Dra..co…kiss?" Harry asked, reaching his hands up to be hugged goodnight.

Smiling, and wet-faced, Draco sat on the bed and gathered Harry into his arms and hugged him. He pecked him on the lips, and held him close again for a moment. It was never enough, these little tidbits. Oh, to have just a little more, for just a little longer.

"Baby, I'm going to wash up a bit, and I'll be to bed," Draco murmured into Harry's hair, his hand gently stroking Harry's back.

"Oh…kay," Harry said sleepily and allowed himself to be laid back in the bed and tucked in. He smiled at Draco and closed his eyes.

xxxxx

Lying there in the dark, Draco could hear the steady breathing from the other side of the bed. He turned and scooted closer to Harry. How could someone always be so warm to the touch? Draco wondered as he laid his arm over Harry's side. The heat coming from his skin was wonderful, and Draco sighed, happy in this moment of quiet.

Waiting for sleep was never easy or relaxing to Draco. He'd been tormented with his own dreams these last couple of years. Dreams of Harry, his father, and his friends had all tortured him night after night. Draco envied Harry for his childlike ability to fall asleep easily and deeply. To start most days off rested was a thing of the past for Draco, but he made do; however, tomorrow he needed to be rested and alert. The Ministry was coming tomorrow. Rather, today.

Hermione had brought him the letter. She'd been crying, he could tell, before she'd stopped by the shop and given it to him. The Ministry had decided to evaluate Harry. He was considered a menace to their world now. The world he'd saved two years, six months, one week and almost four days ago. Harry's uncontrollable magic when he became upset was devastating. He'd blown up the shed just last week over a spilt pudding that Mrs. Figg had refused to replace.

Draco had looked up from the letter into Hermione's pitying eyes. "Draco," she'd said. "Maybe it's for the best. You could rest, take a trip, travel. Get your life together. Maybe meet someone. Maybe even settle down." She had kissed him on the cheek before she'd left.

_'I could do all that',_ he thought, as he pressed close to Harry. _'I could travel to France, maybe see if there are any of my relatives left there, maybe take a holiday, maybe…',_ Draco shifted as Harry turned in his sleep, _'Maybe I could just go ahead and slit my throat now and be done with it.'_

Sleep wouldn't be easy in coming tonight, but Draco closed his eyes anyway and waited for the Goddess of Sleep to take him in her arms.

Like it had so many nights before, The Day, that damnable day unfolded again before his eyes. The smoke was thick, billowing all around, and the flames were jumping toward the sky. It was like nighttime in Hell. It was Hell. Screams and curses were being shouted all around. The sizzle of a missed spell whizzing past. The flashes of light when a spell connected with its victim. It was there again. All around him. He could just see Harry, the spell shooting from his wand toward Voldemort. The Dark Lord melting, fading away, vanishing from sight like some ghost of a memory. Harry was stumbling through the flames, the smoke folding around him like a giant's bats wings. He was close enough to see clearly now. Harry was grinning, and Draco was reaching for him. And Harry's eyes were growing wide and that damn Fawkes swooping down and Harry shoving him hard to the side. The light growing and blinding and white, and the phoenix bursting into flames and the ash choking Draco and burning his eyes.

Draco swallowed; the taste of ash, dark, foul, and acrid in his throat. He coughed, spat, and looked for his lover. Harry was on his knees, shaking, a shimmer of light coming off him. The laughter clued him onto who had cast the spell. His father, Lucius fucking Malfoy was shrieking with laughter until Draco had pointed his wand at him.

"Draco," he'd said, "You can come home now, it's over." He had crossed his arms across his chest calmly and smirked at his son, the smooth words meaning nothing at all to Draco.

The flames were jumping higher and higher, the orange-red tongues crying for their next victim. And it had been such a little spell to end it all. To avenge Harry, to kill the bastard who'd hurt his Harry, but had been aiming for him. Lucius, his hair flying around his face like a silver halo falling, burning, the long strands of his hair crinkling, turning ashy and black, and he was dead.

Draco pulled Harry to his feet, staggering under his weight. He had to get Harry away from there, to find someone to help him, and the smoke was growing thicker with each step he took. His arms were wrapped tight around Harry, but Harry was growing limper in his arms, the magic draining from him and burning the ground around Draco's feet. It was Hell. And there was no end to it.

But, wait! What was this? Harry was moving with him now. His arms coming up to wrap around Draco's neck, and his lips were moving against Draco's. This wasn't the way it happened, Dream Draco protested, but this was much better, much more satisfying.

Dream Harry whispered, "Draco," as he tucked a tangled blond lock behind Draco's ear, his face sooty and black, and his hands moving across Draco's back. Harry dipped his head to Draco's neck, his mouth leaving warm, wet kisses on its path back to his lips. Draco moaned in his sleep. It wasn't real, but it was his Harry, and he wasn't going to wake up from this. He'd lay here and sleep until he died; his want for Harry was that great.

Unbeknownst to Draco, Harry stirred and slowly stretched.

Harry blinked. It was early, he could tell, the light was grey, and the moan from Draco had woken him. It was quiet in the house, the faint drip from the spigot in the bath, echoing in the house. It was like a pulse point to the days he'd been living. Drip, eat, drip, sleep, over and over again. He felt like he'd woken from a long, boring dream. He looked around the room, squinting to see the clock perched on the dresser. Harry stretched again, and took stock of himself. He felt, surprisingly, alright. His head hurt a bit, but that was to be expected when you dueled with the Dark Lord on a fairly regular basis.

Turning, Harry propped himself up on his elbow, and studied Draco. Even in the dim light, Harry could see the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked worn, tired, and thinner than Harry remembered. How long had he been out? A day, a week, a month? It hadn't seemed that long ago that they were on the battlefield, and the spells and curses were being cast to settle one man's desire to control it all. It must not have been too bad; the healers wouldn't have let him leave the hospital if it had of been.

He reached a hand out and brushed a fallen lock of hair out of the eyes of his lover. Harry smiled and leaned over and pressed his lips to Draco's. The blond flinched and then quieted under Harry's gentle touch. It had been far too long since he'd touched Draco, and Harry slid his hand underneath Draco's tee shirt. He was cold, almost icy to the touch, and Harry sniggered quietly. No wonder he was called the Slytherin Ice Prince. The flesh was smooth and firm to the touch, and Harry shifted back down, moving closer to Draco and running his other hand under his shirt. His hands moved in small circles on Draco's chest, running his fingers along the lines delineating his chest.

_'Oh gods, his hands are hot,'_thought Dream Draco, there was no smoking plain in this dream, no blood, or death; only him and a dark-haired man whom he loved. Harry's hands were ghosting across his chest and Harry was pulling his shirt up and it was heavenly. Arching into Harry's touch, Draco gasped as Harry's tongue began its languid path up his chest. And yet, the faint voice was calling him. Dream Draco willed it to go away. This was his dream and this was his Harry, and he wasn't going to wake.

"Draco, wake up," Harry whispered, his fingers of one hand settling over a pale pink nipple. He swirled his finger around the taut nubbin, and pinched it lightly for good measure. "Draco," Harry said a bit louder, and leaned over and suckled Draco's cool flesh.

The blond shifted in his sleep. "Go the fuck away," Dream Draco shouted. Harry was touching him, holding him, and arousing him in a way that hadn't happened for such a long time. He felt Harry's teeth on his chest and he whimpered a surrendering cry of pleasure.

Harry lifted his mouth from the cool flesh. Why wasn't Draco waking up? Any other time, he'd have Harry already undressed. "Draco," Harry said louder, "If you don't wake up, I'm going to fuck you where you lay."

Draco blinked. It sounded like Harry, but it was too early to be up, and he wanted to go back to sleep, to find his Harry, his Dream Harry. The blond blinked again, Harry was leaning over him, smiling.

"Go back to sleep, love," Draco said, his eyes half shut. He started to turn over. "We've got a big day tomorrow." he said, his words slurring slightly.

"Draco," Harry laughed, "Wake up," and then in a low sexy voice, "I'll make it worth your while," and his hand slid to the waistband of Draco's boxers.

Draco started at the sound of Harry's laughter. Rolling over onto his back, he looked up into startlingly clear green eyes. His mouth opened and then closed. Was it really Harry? He narrowed his eyes and stared into those deep pools of green, waiting for them to cloud over, and Harry to fade away into his little world.

"What?" Harry asked, confused at Draco's intent stare.

"It is you," Draco whispered, half to himself.

Harry cocked his head, confused, "Well, who else it would be?"

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Draco gazed at Harry, his eyes widening. They were still clear and bright green. It was Harry. The Harry he'd fallen in love with.  
>Not little Harry, childish, sweet, little Harry, but Harry, the Wizarding World's savior and Golden Boy, who wanted nothing more than to shag him blind.<p>

Draco shot up in the bed, and wrapped his arms around the man leaning over him, and knocked him over in his haste to kiss him. He kissed Harry, not a little loving peck, but a kiss born of hunger and desire, and joyous delight.

And Harry kissed him back, his tongue parting Draco's pale pink lips, and delving into his mouth. It was slow, and loving, and hard, and rough, until the need for air forced them apart.

Smirking, Harry cupped Draco's face, and kissed him again, gently this time. "That's more like it." Draco swallowed hard, and his eyes had an unusual shine about them. Was there a tear forming in the corner of Draco's eye? Malfoy's never cried; it wasn't in their nature.

Draco smiled, and swallowed down the prickly feeling starting in the back of his throat. "I missed you," he said, his voice husky. He slid his hand up Harry's arm, slowly caressing the warm skin. He wove his fingers in those famous tangled locks, and smiled a goofy little grin of joy.

Harry shivered under the gentle touch of pale, cool fingers, but his eyes told Draco what he thought about that caress. He smiled back. "I don't know why…I was always here, wasn't I?" Harry asked, his finger coming up and wiping the tear that had finally started its way down Draco's cheek.

Watching, Draco felt a prickle of fear as he watched Harry rub the tear between his fingers with a faraway look in his eyes. _'No, not again, I can't lose him again,'_Draco thought, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

Harry blinked, startled out of his reverie at the unconscious tightening of Draco's fingers in his hair, and flinched at the terrified expression on Draco's face. "I… it just felt like… something from long ago. I think it was second year that I felt something like this," and Harry absently rubbed his thumb and forefinger together again, "It was in the Chamber of Secrets, and Fawkes was there." Harry cleared his throat. "You know, phoenix tears have healing powers, and Fawkes saved me from Tom. Voldemort." Smiling, he shifted closer to Draco, and with his lips almost touching his whispered, "But, you already knew that."

Their lips met in a collision of desire. Harry was yanking off Draco's tee shirt, and Draco's hands were tugging on Harry's boxers, and in the rush to feel the slide of skin upon skin, it didn't really matter who was undressing whom; their clothes were flung to the floor with little care.

Draco, rolled to his back, intent to pull Harry on top of him, but Harry resisted this invitation. "Draco, I feel like I've been in a dream world. I need to feel you in me, to know that this is real," Harry said softly, his hands pulling Draco on top of him.

Brushing the back of his hand across Harry's face, Draco leaned down and kissed Harry, then moving slowly toward Harry's ear, his mouth feasting on the warm skin. He flicked his tongue lightly in the shell of Harry's ear, and nipped at the lobe, his words warm in Harry's ear. "It's real alright, it's no dream," he murmured, his hands were entwined with Harry's, holding him down. He flicked Harry's ear again with his tongue, and suckled the warm flesh beneath his mouth on Harry's neck. Oh gods, he tasted so good, smoke and the faint taste of soap crossed his taste buds. He sucked harder and heard his lover gasp and tighten his grip around his shoulders; Harry's fingers were carding through his hair, and grasping his shoulders, his fingers digging into him. Draco raised his head and smirked at the sight of the Saviour of the Wizarding World laying there, his eyes closed and his mouth parted, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips, and a slight flush tinting his cheeks.

Draco bent down and lapped at the dark circle of Harry's nipple, his tongue leaving a glistening path up his chest and back down until he was poised over Harry's navel. Draco ran his hands once more over Harry's chest to his ribs and down his stomach until his fingers were hooked in Harry's belly button, the rest splayed across the soft flesh of his belly. The soft clean scent of soap on his skin was morphing into something dark, and musky, the scent of sex. It drove Draco down to taste, to suckle, to lick the hot, sweet flesh of Harry Potter. The hardened length throbbed against his tongue, and he felt Harry's shiver as he pressed it against the throbbing vein in his manhood. Draco moved slowly, deliberately, his mouth setting a steady rhythm. Harry was starting to move in unison; each downward motion met with an equally urgent upward thrust. Harry's hands were in his hair, his face, and moving across his shoulders and back. With each gasp of delight, his hands would hold him, dig into his pale flesh, and just as quickly release him and continue their random flight over him.

Harry gave a little keening whimper; a sound Draco remembered and cherished from so long ago. He was close to the edge, and Draco was going to take him over. He slowed his motion and released Harry from his mouth, the hardened flesh jutting against his head as he flicked his tongue across Harry's sac. He tongued the pebbled surface and sucked on them lightly.

"Draco, oh gods, Draco…" Harry whimpered. "Fuck me," Harry groaned, his body taut and expectant.

Draco swiped his tongue one more time before letting them slide out of his mouth. He whispered a charm, and the lube slicked his hand, its coolness belying the pleasure it will help bring. Draco smoothed the gel over and around Harry's entrance, before coating his fingers. Carefully, Draco slid one long finger into Harry, opening him, stroking his inner walls, watching Harry find pleasure in his touch.

Unexpectedly, Harry took a glob of the lube himself from. Rubbing the icy gel between his hands he stroked Draco. Slathering it on Draco's length, his hands moving up and down, he looked up into Draco's eyes and smiled, his smile saying what words couldn't.

Draco slid his arms under Harry's knees and pressed closer, just teasing Harry with its nearness, and he pressed himself home. He heard Harry hiss and saw him bite his bottom lip. Draco stroked slowly, giving Harry time to get used to the fullness within. It was hot, and tight. Deliberately shifting to hit Harry's prostate, Draco leaned over to suckle Harry's swollen bottom lip, and then Harry opened his eyes. Draco could see the green fire dancing there. They were moving together now, like a finely tuned machine. In, deeper, harder, and Harry was drawing him into the flames. They were consuming him. Draco was hot, on fire, burning alive. The flames were dancing around him, holding Harry and him together. Harder, and Harry was gasping, and Draco felt a tear slide down his face. The flames leapt higher, pain and pleasure devouring him, cleansing him. And Draco let himself burn.

Slowly, gradually, the fire was banking; the embers of passion were dying down. And for the first time in ever so long, Draco Malfoy was warm.

xxxxx

Hearing the bang of the storm door, Draco lifted his head and glanced at the cottage. Harry was coming, a plate of sandwiches in one hand, a bag of crisps held between his teeth, and two bottles of ale in his other hand. Draco watched him approach, and then turned back to his journal, marked his place, and shut it.

"Mrffoy, yuf could helf," Harry said from between clenched teeth.

Draco snickered and reached for the plate, taking a sandwich off, before setting it down the blanket he'd been laying on. Harry sat down beside him, and handed Draco a bottle of ale.

"Glad they're gone," Draco said before taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah, me too."

"The look on their faces when they saw you was rather amusing," Draco said, putting the bottle down next to the tree trunk. He shifted over, and sat back against the trunk. He caught Harry's eye, and patted his legs, grinning.

Harry snickered at Draco's invitation, and laid back, his head resting on Draco's thigh.

Carding his fingers, through Harry's messy hair, Draco quietly said, "You can read it, if you want," nodding toward the small book lying at the edge of the blanket.

Harry nodded and glanced over at the small grey book. He cleared his throat, before looking up at Draco. "I can't believe you stayed with me. Two and a half years is a long time."

"Yeah," Draco said agreeably, a small smile on his face. He gazed fondly at Harry, his face growing solemn. "You didn't tell them, did you?" he asked.

"What? That I think you're part phoenix?" Harry asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Well, it would put paid to the rumours that I'm part Veela," Draco laughed.

Harry chuckled, and took off his glasses. Folding them, he carefully put them in his shirt pocket. "Hey," he said softly, reaching up and cupping Draco's face. "I've been under the microscope. It's not fun. I'd rather have you here, than you off somewhere, the healers testing you for a miracle cure."

Draco leaned over and kissed Harry. Not a kiss of great passion or desire, but a gentle loving kiss of affection and friendship.

Draco was smiling broadly when he lifted his lips from Harry's. "I'll always have your back Potter," Draco sniggered, "and your arse." He slipped his hand down Harry's jeans and gave his arse a stinging pinch.

"Twit," Harry laughed, and grabbed Draco's hand. "Good, 'cause I'm counting on it."

First - an apology for taking so long to post this sequel to The Walking Wounded. I hope you liked it and reviews are always appreciated! Be good, and if you can't be good, be very, very BAD!

BKP


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